


Force of Gravity

by alba17



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, genre: romance, genre: smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto's not a delicate flower, but a 20-something guy who hasn't gotten laid nearly enough in the past year. Re-enter Jack, with all his charms and complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force of Gravity

Ianto tried to restrain himself for as long as possible. He kept a foot of space between himself and Jack at all times. His eyes flitted away whenever Jack's baby blues tried to pin him down, though he could sense Jack trying to impart a large bandwidth of information with every laser-like glance. Even as he kept that phrase on constant repeat in his head - "I came back for you" – he'd really tried to maintain full control of his mind and body so as not to fall heedlessly back into Jack's gravitational pull.

He'd managed it even when Jack awkwardly asked him out on a date, of all things - what were they, teenagers? Still, his heart had banged in his chest, and he'd spluttered like an idiot, and Jack's pleading eyes –so unlike him – ate away at his resolve.

Then that bloody Captain John had pulled the gun on him in the elevator and everything went to hell.

But when it was all over and the team had stood around afterwards, eyes shifting this way and that, everyone wondering what Jack would do, Ianto felt that pull swaying him in Jack's direction, like an invisible cord, when Jack jerked his head towards the cog door and held his hand out to him.

Even then, he'd found reasons to avoid touching him - he'd fumbled with his coat, reached into his pocket for keys, anything to keep his hands occupied, eyes trained away from Jack's handsome face and his mouth shaped like sex.

When they finally got to Ianto's flat, and Jack had shucked his coat and reached his arms up in a full body stretch, his trousers tightening around his arse and his shirt pulling out from the waistband to reveal a small strip of tan skin, and... Fuck, that was it. He shoved Jack into the wall and smashed his mouth into his – oh God, impossibly soft lips and there was the taste he remembered, he thought he'd never taste it again – And he was so fucking hard, he'd been hard all night, since Jack had brushed his hand across his rear end on the way out of the Hub - he was flesh and blood, wasn't he? Just the thought of fucking Jack Harkness at the end of the night was enough to permanently engorge him.

He was afraid maybe he'd bruised Jack's lips, he'd pushed into him so hard, but then they each pulled back slightly and it was suddenly tender and tentative. Maybe that was more appropriate, given they hadn't seen or touched each other in months. As they shared whisper-light kisses, it all came flooding back, those times they'd made out in the archives for what seemed like hours, when the feel of Jack's lips on his was burned into his memory, every little push and pull, the way Jack's mouth opened to his, then pursed slightly, in just the right way to make Ianto arch his entire body into his, to want with every fibre of his being, so that when he finally felt the soft, moist presence of Jack's tongue inside his mouth he'd grasp at it frantically, tongue and lips working as if to devour Jack in his entirety.

It was just like that now, all over again, it was some kind of miracle, mortifying memories of him crying into Jack's coat floating uninvited into his mind. Jack opened his mouth and Ianto surged into it, seeking that hot, slick welcoming. Jack's tongue met his, flitting into his mouth seductively, and he thought he'd lose it right then. It had been so long.

He pushed his thigh between Jack's legs and it was all hot and hard and there were way too many layers of cloth between them. His hands were on Jack's hips, fingers digging into his flesh, the bone under the skin sturdy and steadying, and their chests were flush together, Jack's pectoral muscles like coiled springs against his own. The thought of those nipples under his tongue, hard muscle sloping away, his lips on them, pulling and soothing, his hands braced on firm biceps and smooth skin...

"Jack, please..." Ianto broke away and started blindly pulling at the buttons on Jack's shirt, the fastenings of his trousers, uselessly, his fingers didn't seem to be working, so he gave up and started in on his own, before Jack took hold of his wrists with both hands and brought them to his chest.

"Ianto." Ianto looked uncomprehendingly at his hands crushed up against the blue of Jack's shirt, Jack's hands wrapped around his wrists, the edge of his watchband digging into the skin.

"What?" he croaked, voice hoarse.

"Let's go into the bedroom." Jack looked at him with those impossibly blue eyes, which maybe had a few more wrinkles around them now. Ianto didn't care, obviously, he couldn't really pretend that he wouldn't do anything Jack asked. That much was clear.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an impossibly long moment and it was all suddenly too much, the whole day, everything that had happened: Jack suddenly reappearing, killing the blowfish when Ianto had hesitated, John and his shenanigans, almost losing Gwen. He collapsed against Jack's chest, snuffling his nose into its warmth, that vaguely cinnamon scent that spelled "Jack." He could feel Jack's heart beating, thump-thump, thump-thump, regular and steady, maybe a little fast right now, but reassuringly _there_.

Then he shifted his thigh and Jack moved his hips and - oh! there was Jack's cock, hard against his belly, he could feel it jutting against his belt buckle – and he was ravenous again, Jack's body pressing against him long and hard. The layers would get in the way like they always did, blue on blue until he reached the inevitable white cotton, top and bottom, the column of Jack's cock rigid, thrusting out the cloth. He could taste it right now, could see the drop of pre-come collecting at the tip, his mouth closing on it, silk and salt and steel merging into one mind-blowing package, Jack's groan as his lips slid down over the head.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips in anticipation. When had they gotten so dry?

Somehow they managed to make it into the bedroom, hands grappling with buttons and fabric, all the while Ianto remembering everything he'd managed to tamp deep down within himself. The shape of Jack's buttocks arching into his palms, the faint pattern of hair trailing down towards his cock, the way his scent collected in the dip of his throat. The memories were uncovered like sand left by a receding tide, with each layer of clothing they took off, another set revealed.  
When he looked deep into Jack's eyes in the darkness of the bedroom, he saw something new there, glinting in his gaze. Something he could connect with in a way he never had when all either of them sought was a warm body close at hand, one that wouldn't ask too many questions or make too many demands.

Jack had changed while he was gone. Ianto didn't know how and maybe he never would, but he could feel it in the way Jack's hands clung to his back, in the way his mouth smothered his own with desperate, searching kisses, in the fraught hiss of his response when Ianto curled his fingers around his cock. It was all subtly different than it had been before, and it made his heart ache.

When it was all over, they lay in the dark together, hands roaming over the curves and valleys of each other's bodies, reacquainting themselves with each other. Ianto's fingers played over the surface of Jack's shoulders and back, and he paused when he felt a ridge of scar tissue. That was new. He hated to think about what could actually make Jack scar. What the hell had happened to him?

He pressed a kiss to Jack's forehead and smoothed back his hair, cradling his face with his palm. "Welcome back," he said, smiling.

"Good to be here." Jack's hand curled around the back of Ianto's neck, fingers playing with the short hair there. He shifted onto his back, still pressed up against Ianto. "You don't know how good," he said with a sigh.

"What happened, Jack? Can you tell me?" Ianto rolled on top of him so they were face to face, his hands wrapped around Jack's head, fingers threaded through the dark strands of hair. He didn't expect an answer, but he had to ask.

Jack looked away, into the grey shadows. He was silent for a moment. "No. I can't tell you." His voice was tight and Ianto could see his jaw muscles working in the dim light. He looked directly into Ianto's eyes, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing. "Really."

Ianto looked at him, searching those now-dark eyes. It was still there, that unknown _something_ that gave him a whiff of hope, however irrational. Ianto blew out a breath and nuzzled his head down next to Jack's. "Okay," he murmured softly into Jack's hair. He could feel himself stuffing his doubts down, down to a place where they wouldn't bother him.

It was getting crowded down there.

The whole time he'd worked for Torchwood Three, he'd been cramming things down inside himself so they wouldn't interfere with the job that had to be done, whether that was caring for Lisa and finding a way to restore her humanity, or fighting aliens or hiding dead bodies. That was even more true during the last few months, when Jack was gone. Things had to be done, regardless of how desperate and hopeless Ianto might feel. That is, on those rare occasions when he allowed himself to feel anything at all. More often than not, that self-indulgence led to a night of drunkenly losing himself in the furtive charms and loose limbs of strangers, who inevitably seemed to have blue eyes and brown hair.

His finger traced the line of Jack's ear, then fell to his jaw, now rough with stubble, following its outline to his mouth. He pressed the pad of his finger gently on the other man's full lower lip, inhaling sharply when Jack roughly gripped his wrist and suckled at his fingertip with his warm mouth.

"So are we okay then?" Jack asked, letting go of Ianto's finger with a slick slide through his lips, his voice husky and low, tentative.

Ianto snorted. "I don't usually do this with people I'm not okay with."

"No angry sex for you?"

"Do I seem angry to you?"

Jack was silent for a moment. "Hard to say."

Ianto laid his head on Jack's chest, hearing his heart beat steadily against his ear again, thump-thump. "Well, I'm not." He spread his hand across the smooth, heated skin of Jack's stomach. "Angry, that is." He dipped his thumb into Jack's belly button. Jack giggled, and pushed Ianto's hand away.

"That tickles. You know that."

"I forgot," Ianto said sincerely. He couldn't resist another quick tickle, before moving his hand down, fingers playing gently with Jack's softening cock, sweeping over his balls and caressing the soft skin behind them.

"I was angry. For a long time. But now that you're back, I'm mostly relieved." He hadn't realized until that moment. His anger had melted away entirely – he was clearly helpless before the force of nature that was Jack Harkness.

They lay there quietly after that, not saying anything. City sounds came through the windows, the honk of a car and the klaxon of a faraway siren, the conversation of people passing on the pavement outside. Ianto wondered where Jack had been, whether there had been humans there, if he'd been on Earth or somewhere else, and if he'd heard similar sounds.

He wondered about the ways Jack had changed and if he'd ever find out about the ones that were less visible than that small scar on his back.

He wrapped his arm around Jack's waist and squeezed. Jack returned the embrace, his arm around Ianto's shoulders, pressing him tight. Jack nuzzled his nose in Ianto's hair and Ianto laid his leg over Jack's.

Shortly, Ianto's breathing became increasingly regular and he drifted off. It had been a long and exhausting day, after all.

\--

He woke up with a start. The air felt cold and it was extremely quiet. He was alone. His heart leapt in his chest when he remembered everything that had happened the day before. Jack had come back - the memory suddenly jerked back into full clarity. He had been here when Ianto fell asleep, in bed with him. But now he was gone.

In a rush, he sat up straight, looking around the room, trying not to panic. Some paper crinkled under his hand as he moved around.

It was a note from Jack in his usual illegible scrawl: "Time's up. We're back to our own time line. Went back to the Hub to check on things."

Ianto stared at the note, his heart rate subsiding slowly. Jack was still here. Theoretically. He'd believe it when he saw it.  
He silently repeated the phrase, like a mantra: _"I came back for you."_ Except now Jack had had him – maybe all bets were off.

He checked the clock. 5:30. Not too early to get ready for work. He had to see Jack in person, make sure he was really at the Hub like the note said. He could feel the tug of that invisible cord yanking him inexorably in Jack's direction, like he was a moon orbiting a planet.

He tried to quell his rising anxiety, methodically going through his usual preparations for work. Brush teeth – check. Shower – check. Shave – check. Get dressed – check.

He looked at himself in the mirror for a final once over, straightening his tie and blowing out a breath. Jack would be there. The note said that's where he'd gone - it was in his handwriting. Everything was going to be okay.

He breathed slowly and deeply a few times. He could do this. He could act like everything was normal, when it was anything but. He'd been doing it for years, while he kept alive his half-robot homicidal girlfriend and waited around for his immortal boyfriend to return from travelling through time and space with the alien who happened to be their official enemy. Routine stuff, right? Nothing to get bent out of shape about.

Ianto smoothed down his tie and straightened his spine, moulding his features into a placid mask. He grabbed his keys and wallet, stuffing them in his pockets before leaving his flat.

This was life at Torchwood.


End file.
